


One More Time For The Good Times

by torakowalski



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, No Spoilers, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:37:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/pseuds/torakowalski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They agreed: the Avengers would start and they would stop. Simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Time For The Good Times

**Author's Note:**

> Written for foxxcub's awesome Avengers Kissing Meme on LJ.

"Which is when I decided that the quickest way to secure the target was from underneath," Clint finishes, smiling blandly at Fury.  
  
Fury's eye twitches. That's the seventh time this briefing, which Clint is pretty proud of - it's nowhere near his record but it's pretty good considering he's not even trying. "By jumping into the water and letting the yacht  _sail over you_  before shooting out the engine just before the propeller hit you?" he asks, like he's checking but not like he's surprised.  
  
"Yes, sir," Clint agrees easily. He's found that the quickest way to get out of meetings like this is to agree with everything, unless it's something  _really_  fucking stupid. He's kind of anxious to get out of this one because he might have gotten dried off on the journey back but there's seaweed and shit down his pants still and that is no way comfortable. He's also kind of worried there may also be a crab hanging out too close to a place that he'd really rather not get a pincer pinch.  
  
Fury sighs. "You're dismissed, Agent," he says, waving Clint away.  
  
Clint salutes because he's not supposed to and it makes Fury pissed. "Always a pleasure to serve, sir," he says and lets himself out quick before Fury can decide what to throw at him.  
  
He's barely gotten two steps down the corridor, calculating the quickest path to the nearest shower and where he can find a spare set of clothes, when a hand shoots out and grabs his forearm, dragging him into an empty office. Some part of Clint recognises the hand and he lets himself be dragged, blinking at Coulson in confusion when he closes and locks the door behind them, hands excessively, deliberately efficient like he really wanted to slam it.   
  
"Um," Clint says, confused. "Hey? Hi? How are you?"  
  
"Don't," Coulson says, holding up a hand. He crosses back to Clint and puts a hand on the side of his neck, fingers pressing hand against his pulse.  
  
"Heart's still beating," Clint promises him. "You know, they checked that out in Medical."   
  
"Shut up," Coulson tells him and pulls Clint's collar aside, checking for god knows what. There's a long, shallow scrape down the right side where the yacht's keel wasn't quite as far above him as he'd thought. In his defence, it's kind of hard to tell that kind of thing while underwater and running out of airCoulson touches the graze and Clint's brain goes briefly static. Coulson's hand is wide and warm and completely unexpected.  
  
"Sir?" Clint asks. His voice doesn't come out loud enough but apparently it can't manage any louder.   
  
"I can just about cope," Coulson tells him steadily, "with your damn heroics when I'm there to watch your back but when I have to listen to it on the radio, too far away to be any help..."  
  
Clint tips his head back putting a bit more space into the barely-there gap between them so he can frown at Coulson. "Sorry?" he offers because he isn't, it worked, but he gets that Coulson's mad and he never enjoys that.  
  
"Fuck's sake," Coulson growls and then his hand lifts from Clint's chest and curls in the folds of his shirt instead. He gives one short tug like he's asking. Clint doesn't know  _what_ he's asking but he knows that if Coulson wants Clint closer then that's where Clint will go.  
  
Coulson's free arm slides around Clint's waist, his hand flattens against his back. "I can't lose you from three thousand miles away," he says and it's maybe the first completely honest thing Coulson has said to him in months.  
  
"Phil," Clint asks, "are we seriously doing this here. In - " He looks around. "Deputy Director Hill's office?" They don't do this anymore, they agreed: the Avengers would start and they would stop. Simple.   
  
Not simple.  
  
"Yeah," Phil says, ragged. "Yes." He stops, something like doubt in his eyes and there should never be doubt in Phil's eyes. "If you still want to?"  
  
Clint laughs. He can't help it. He's been so fucking good, he's compartmentalised and pretended and lied his fucking ass off about the ways he does and doesn't feel, but he's _never_  stopped wanting Phil.  
  
"Yes," he says when he realises Phil's genuinely waiting for an answer.  
  
The way Phil crushes their mouths together is pretty obviously telegraphed but Clint's still moans into it like he's surprised. He can't - He reaches up and grabs hold of Phil's collar, dragging him in, dragging him down, accepting every biting kiss that Phil wants to give him.  
  
Phil takes a step forward, then another and they don't stop until they hit the wall. They don't stop for kind of a long while after that, either.

/End


End file.
